A Hospital In Jersey II
by Brooklynnx
Summary: Dr. House's new obsession with Spider-Man takes him to New York, where he wants to know the face under the mask. But how far will he go to achieve his goal? Will he help in the creation of one of Spider-Man's greatest foes?
1. Sequel Time

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything, which makes me depressed. _

Dr. Gregory House loved to be right.

He knew he was almost always right, and even throwing the word 'almost' in there was pushing it. He was one of the greatest doctors known to the medical world; and having this knowledge not only made him think that he could do whatever the hell he wanted, but it made his ego grow three sizes that day.

House was twirling his cane, his eyes open but not focusing on anything. He was in his office, and he had sent his team to run a few pointless tests that they didn't find necessary to give himself some thinking space. His feet were propped up on his cluttered desk, and he was leaning back in his chair like he owned the free world. His mind was reeling--it was always reeling--but it had been focused on one subject for quite a while.

Spider-Man.

He was a little confused, but only a little. He didn't trust Spider-Man, he didn't like him. Yet, nearly a month ago, he had helped to save the wall-crawler's life and had helped him escape a slap on the wrist by a set of handcuffs. But why? House shrugged that off; his midn wasn't worried about that. It was worried on something else involving the hero in red and blue spandex. The face under the mask.

Who was Spider-Man?

God, he had been so close. So close! Spider-Man had been in his hospital, in his care. He could have ripped his mask off, he could have done something. He had discovered two possible identies; Peter something, and Flash Thompson. House had Googled Flash Thompson, as he had promised Wilson earlier, and found out a little about the boy. High school football star had a lot of mentions in local papers. But then there was the mysterious, first-name Peter that haunted him as well. House wasn't sure which name he'd found was correct, if any of them were. And he did not like feeling unsure about anything.

He looked down at the latest copy of the _Daily Bugle_ that was on his desk. "SPIDER-MAN SUSPECTED IN DIAMOND HEIST" was the headline, and the photo showed the wall-crawler swinging on a webline away from the scene. He had read the article over three times. Even though the paper was biast, obviously against Spider-Man and his claims of being a hero, House still chose the _Bugle_ over any other paper. He liked the editor, Jameson, and how he told it like it was. _Friendly Neighborhood my ass._

Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of medicine and hospital administraion of the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, entered House's office without so much as a knock. He always gave her the same respect. Her curly brown hair was back in a bun today, her gray skirt a little too long for House's taste, though he did like how he could see her bra through her white blouse. Cuddy stood before him. "House, you've been locked in here all day. Your patient could be dying, and--"

"My patient _is_ dying. Emphysema. Maybe the three cartons of empty cigarettes did it." He rolled his eyes. He stood from his desk, reaching for a pair of scissors. He took the front page of the paper from the fold and cut down the middle, seperating it from the back page. He limped over to his wall and hung the front page, adding it to his collection. He had a collage of _Daily Bugle_ front pages featuring Spider-Man.

Cuddy sighed. "House, you are a doctor. Not a superhero."

"And he's a freak. Not a superhero," he retorted, his eyes looking at his covered wall, up and down. He leaned on his cane, focusing on one picture. Underneath it, in very small print, almost not wanting to give any credit at all, read the little blurb: _'Photo by Peter Parker.' _That caught House's attention. _Peter._ He grinned evilly. It had been there, up on his wall, the entire time. His lead. Maybe it was a coincidence. Peter was a popular name. And he still had that Flash kid to catch up on.

"Cuddy, I think I need to take a little field trip," he said, turning around to look at her. His eyes trailed to her breasts for a moment, but then back up to her face, which was showing her annoyance. She blinked. "Field trip?" she asked him. "You've got to be joking."

"Oh, I never joke. I may mock everything you do and add in a bit of sarcasm, but I never joke." He grabbed his leather jacket, throwing it on over his shirt. He then reached for his motorcycle helmet. He limped towards her, stopping within a few inches. "Foreman's around. Tell my team to listen to his. But don't let him touch my white board."

House exited his office, leaving Cuddy standing there with a dumbfounded look on her face. She didn't chase after him; he was House. She couldn't do anything to change his mind. She walked over to his wall of Spider-Man, looking at each front page individually. House had a problem with obsessions. Hopefully his little field trip would leave him satisfied.

**_A/N: Yes, I did it. Sequel time. I just started getting back into FanFiction, I'm sorry that I was away for so long. But I'm back now; let's get writing. _**


	2. A Day In The Life

As each week came to a close, it seemed like the students were celebrating the first Friday of their lives. The last bell rang and the students piled out of their classrooms, shouts of excitment and relief filling the air. The fact that they had to come back and do it all over on Monday didn't even phase them. It was the weekened. That was all that mattered.

Midtown High School was the home to many things, one of them being Flash Thompson.

Eugene Thompson earned himself the nickname "Flash" from his speed on the football field. He had a thick set of reddish-blonde hair, and pale blue eyes that deemed him attractive to the girls of Midtown High. One of the most popular and egocentric students at the school, he seemed to thrive on two things: football and making Peter Parker's life miserable.

Peter Parker was a bookworm, and Flash thought that it was his job to make sure that he knew it. But Parker hadn't been in sciene class that day, and Flash was a bit disapointed that he wasn't able to shove his four-eyed face into the textbook he knew he'd be reading. Parker always had strange disapearances. Flash didn't think Peter Parker had the guts to cut class, but maybe Parker had more courage in him than he imagined. Flash laughed at the thought; Ha. Peter. Courageous. That was a knee-slapper.

Forrest Hills's own Flash Thompson wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, Liz Allen. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty had been wondering about Peter Parker, too. Although Peter was in a completely different social standing, she couldn't help but remember their childhood together, before the popularity came into play. Flash and Liz strolled outside, Flash dawning his school football jacket. He would have offered it to his girlfriend, but he was wearing it just to remind everyone that he was on the team, and she didn't seem cold. It was warm outside, anyhow. He felt a little stupid wearing it. But he knew he looked too cool to feel stupid.

The sun was beating down on the campus outside. It was a perfect Friday. He kissed Liz on the cheek, which made her smile, although her eyes were elsewhere. Through the throngs of students headed towards their buses or cars, Liz pointed to a motorcycle. She didn't think that she knew anyone who rode a motorcycle. As they walked closer to the curb where it was parked, they could tell that the rider was not a student, but much, much older. He was holding his helmet, and he was staring at Flash as if he'd found someone he had been planning to murder for ten years. His eyes made Liz feel very uncomfortable, and she steered her boyfriend to the side, her arm in his. "What the hell was that guys problem?" Flash muttered as they walked off together. But those two had not been the only ones that had spotted the mysterious rider.

Mary Jane Watson, her hair as red as ever, had instantly recognized the man on the motorcycle. Her green eyes narrowed in on him, and her face went into a heated pout as she marched over to him. She was happy Peter wasn't around; his doctor showing up here could only lead to trouble.

"Ah, the redhead bimbo gal pal," House greeted her, straddling the motorcycle still. He smirked, watching her as she stopped before him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Did he know that Peter was Spider-Man? Her head was going crazy with nerves, which made her stomach feel uneasy. She couldn't make it seem like she knew why he was at her high school. Trying to bring the attention to herself, and not the fact that he could be there for Spider-Man, she asked him, "How did you find out I went to school here?"

House cocked his head. "Google is an amazing thing, don't you think?" he asked her. He pointed to the fading image of Flash Thompson, whom he had identified from the results he had found on the internet, although he was almost always wearing his jersey and football helmet. "Who's that?" he asked, trying to pry some information from the redhead's mind.

"Him?" she asked, a little surprised that he was interested. "That's Flash Thompson. Why do you wanna know about him?"

House nodded, his eyes refusing to leave the teenage boy's figure. "Because I'm strangely attracted to football players." He moved to put his helmet back on, but Mary Jane found herself reached out, placing her hand on it and stopping him from placing it over his head. "Oh, no you don't," she said. "What are you doing at my high school?"

"You mean, Spider-Man's high school," House said, slapping her hand away and putting his helmet on. He left Mary Jane even more worried now, and she was tempted to chase after him. _I have to tell Peter!_

So now House knew where to find little Flash Thompson, possible superhero. He had the strength of an amazing athlete to be a superhero, maybe. But it was a strong maybe. And House hated maybes.

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

Vin Bould had hated his job from the start. His father had pushed him to follow in his footsteps, and he had followed them, stupidly. He hated the stupid bank. How had his father poisioned his mind into thinking this would have been the right career move? Everything about it was stupid. He was dressed in a stupid suit, wearing a stupid tie, standing behind a stupid counter, grinning a stupid smile that was obviously fake. His grin was the same to every person to approach him, but it really read, _God, I hate my life._

Bould's grin remained on his face as the next customer in line stepped forward. "Good afternoon, ma'am," Vin greeted the old woman. "How can I help you today?" But suddenly, Vin Bould's smiled disappeared. This was the first time he had a different expression on since he started the job. It was one of terror and fear, with added wide eyes and a few steps backwards. The woman didn't understand quite was what happening, until a metal arm wrapped around her waist and literally threw her aside. The man at the center of the four metal tentacles was grinning. He wore a trenchcoat with sunglasses, his head holding a stupid fishbowl haircut. But Vin didn't think it was stupid. He thought it was horrifying.

"Afternoon, sir," Doctor Otto Octavius beamed. "I'd like to make a withdrawal." His four metal pincers snapped open and closed maliciously, his eyes narrowing at the young banker. Vin swallowed. The first thing that ran through his head was, _God, I hate my dad. _

As the metal arms moved in to attack, one was yanked backwards by a sticky line of what Vin thought was pure goo. _Ha. Sticky Goo saved my life. _But Octavius didn't think so less of the 'goo'. It was webbing. And only one person he knew of spun that kind of webbing.

Spider-Man tugged on the webline as if it were a leash. "Woah, boy! Heel!" He smirked under his mask, and he wished that Mary Jane was done sewing up his _other _spare. He was going through costumes like candy.

Doctor Octopus wasn't amused. "Spider-Man!" he snarled. "Out of your little body cast so soon?" This, of course, was a reference to the state that he had left the wall-crawler in back at the hospital in New Jersey.

"I thought you would've been smart enough to lay low since then," Spider-Man said. "But, then again, I also thought you were smart enough to get a haircut the first time I made fun of it."

Octavius pulled his metal arm free, charging at Spider-Man with hate in his eyes. He had been so close to killing the superhero at the hospital. So close. Dangerously close. It was still amazing how Spider-Man was still alive. It didn't make sense to him. But now all four of his metal arms craved Spider-Man's blood. Spider-Man jumped back, doing a back-handspring and lauching himself on the wall above the door. "Easy, doc! I think I'm allergic to those things." But Doctor Octavius was in no mood for his games. He charged, his metal arms hoisting him into the air and crashing through the wall that Spider-Man had been sticking to. His spider-sense had warned him, and though he lept out of the way a metal arm knocked the wind out of him, slapping him in the stomach and then wrapping around him. The tentacle, upon its owner's landing, smashed Spider-Man into the concrete street outside. The asphalt cracked and dented, Spider-Man moaning with pain in the center of the crater.

His spider-sense flared in his head, and he gathered his strength and rolled out of the way, a metal arm smashing the place where he had just been with extreme force. "You can't keep dodging me and running from me forever, Spider-Man!" Doctor Octopus snarled. "One of these days I will get you. And I will kill you!"

Spider-Man stood, though on weak knees, and just nodded. "Mhm, sure you will, chuckles. Just tell me when and I'll mark it on my calendar. Just not the week of June 18th--I have checkers with Dr. Doom and knitting with the Kingpin."

Outraged with the wall-crawler's contiuned insolence, Octavius shouted out and charged him, his four metal arms each seeming to posess a life of their own. They were demon spirits, bent on destruction and death. They danced in the air, to the tune of hopeful cries of despair soon to come. Spider-Man spun around, pressing down with his two fingers to shoot a webline. When he did so, only a pathetic little thread came out._ No! I'm out of web fluid! _he bit his lip, knowing he would have to rely on his other means to get him out of harm's way.

He used power behind his legs, sprining up into the air towards a nearby building, not making it entirely to the roof. As gravity started to pull him down he reached out his hands, stopping suddenly as Spider-Man attatched himself to the wall. He could hear Octavius coming, and it made his stomach lurch. Spider-Man scaled the building and made it to the rooftop. He sprinted to the end, looking behind him to see Octavius in hot pursuit.

He jumped the gaps between buildings, cursing himself for not having enough web fluid prepared. He could feel the rooftops shaking as Octavius' metal arms slammed down on them once he landed. He moved his feet quickly, judging the distances between the rooftops accurately, though he did become a bit panicked once Octopus was close enough for Spider-Man to hear the sound of the pincers snapping together behind him. His spider-sense suddenly flared up, and he got that familiar tingling sensation at the base of his neck. He reacted quickly; instead of lauching himself towards the rooftop of another building, he dropped down off the rooftop, Octavius' metal arm snatching for him, but missing as the costumed hero starting falling several stories.

Spider-Man aimed his feet at a flagpole that was horizontally protruding from the side of the building. He bounced off it, breaking his fall so that he could land on the street level without so much speed and dangerous force. He landed on the roof of a parked taxi cab, receiving startled cries of delight and terror as he looked up at his surroundings. Octavius hadn't followed him. Odd.

The taxi driver blinked at him in awe. He had not been expecting to come back and find a superhero on his car. Spider-Man waved at him casually. "Your parking meter expired," he smirked, going to shoot off a webline, but then remembering he couldn't. Sighing with annoyance, the wall crawler resorted to the rooftops once again to make his way home. He hoped that Mary Jane covered for him again in school. She was always good like that.

**_A/N: I broke my wrist, so it is really hard to type. Updates may be slow, sorry._**


	3. The Bugle

The _Daily Bugle_ building. It was hard not to know the paper famous for its slanderous, biast opinions on one friendly neighborhood superhero. But even more popular than the paper itself was its square-headed, cigar smoking editor. J. Jonah Jameson. The name rang many bells.

For House, though, the only reason why he was at the _Bugle _building was because of the name underneath the photos of Spider-Man on the front page. The kid was employed here, he knew. Peter Parker could be found here. Which meant that Spider-Man may have been closer to being unmasked than either of them thought.

House had learned that, if you act like you belong and that you know what you are doing, no one will question you. And he had made it to the tenth floor city-room based on that theory. He limped into the business that was a dissaray of desks and computers and coffee machines. His eyes narrowed on a square office, the inside hidden by closed blinds. There was a woman sitting in front of a desk, checking her face in a compact. He made his way over, not bothering to stop and speak with the secretary. She stood and objected as he entered the office, and his eyes instantly fell on a man sitting in a large black swivvel chair, going through the clutter of his desk. His walls were lined with front-pages of his paper, the frames displaying them in a neat mess. Some were from when he was a reporter, and others featured pictures of Spider-Man. House smirked; he could tell that he had come to the right place.

J. Jonah Jameson had a cigar hanging on his lower hip, his square-shaped head joined by a pair of slightly blushed cheeks. His cold eyes shot to the door as House allowed himself in, and he hung up on the voice that had been on speaker phone. "Who the hell are you?" Jameson demanded, standing from his chair though remaining behind his desk.

House stared at the man. He remembered that Spider-Man had once asked if House and Jameson were related. House decided that he was about to find the origin of the comment. "I wanted to see if your paper was as meaningless are you are," House said as he limped further into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Jameson was tired of those stupid comments. He wasn't the_ Times_ or the_ Post_; so shoot him! "What's meaningless is your crippled ass walking through my door!" he snapped, pulling the cigar from his lips and throwing it out an open window. House wondered if they'd hear some man screaming because his cheap toupe caught fire. "Oh, I haven't heard that one before," House said. "Crippled? I'm crying inside." House rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, before Jameson cut him off.

"What does this look like to you? A walk-in clinic? I have a paper to run!" He pointed to the framed headlines along his walls. Many of them were hanging unevenly. "You think these get published on time if I'm here talking to some smartass with a cane? I deliever the news, damn it! This world needs to know that Spider-Man's out there and that he's not taking a break while I'm here exchanging witty remarks with the likes of you!"

House blinked; he hadn't even brought up Parker or Spider-Man, and already the man jumped right into it. He had heard about Jameson, and all the rumors. He realized that they were probably true. He nodded. "I know all about Spider-Man--"

"Spider-Man is a menace! A menace to my city!" Jameson spat. "He needs to be locked up behind bars! He needs to be taken off these streets so he'll stop his little charade of being everyone's hero, and that the truth will finally be seen about him! I've been telling the public for years--years!--that this masked freak is up to no good! No good, I tell you!" His breath was in gasps, and his face was redder than before. But he didn't stop there. "He's been fooling everyone for too long! I'm the one that first saw through his little game! He's not playing hero, he's faking it! He's working with all these crazy, derranged villians you hear about! It's the truth! He's a liar and a fraud and a menace, and he should be locked away behind bars and never allowed to see the light of day again!"

The phone rang. Jameson yanked it from the reciever._ "What?!"_ he shouted, lighting another cigar. House stared at the man oddly; Jameson was mad. He shared that same obsession about Spider-Man as House did, but House could tell that Jameson took it to a new level entirely. "No, I don't want to interview a twelve year old little girl! She probably has a Spider-Man doll that she sleeps with every night! I want someone Spider-Man_ didn't_ save, someone who sees through his stupid mask that labels him a hero! He's not, damn it! He's not!"

House nodded slightly in agreement. He moved towards the clear walls of the office that were given privacy by a set of closed blinds, and he pulled on the string to allow them to slide open. He looked at the cityroom outside the office; these people took their jobs a little too seriously. Was Jameson that terrifying a boss? House found him more comical than anything else.

As Jameson contiuned screaming at the poor soul on the other end of the phoneline, House spotted someone. A kid, whose name House had typed up into the convienient little Google machiene and looked at the image results that had come up for him. Peter Parker. Photographer, and possible Spider-Man #2. The kid had a set of thin brown hair, long to some extent, and a pair of matching eyes. House looked at Jameson one more time before leaving the office, limping out into the busy city room again. His eyes were locked on Peter's head, his cane speeding up his pace towards him.

House noticed the Parker kid stiffen, his eyes suddenly becoming wide and his neck erect. Peter Parker's head snapped in House's direction; how had the kid noticed that he was there? Peter, camera dangling from his neck, darted towards the elevators. House was determined not to lose this kid; he had some questions for Mister Parker.

Peter squeezed between two men, jumping through them and rushing into an elevator. He moved towards the back before pressing the button, House cursing at his crippled leg as the doors shut in his face. He slammed a fist against the metal doors in frustration. "Damn," he muttered under his breath. But he knew where the kid worked now. He'd get him.

Jameson's voice was muffled by the walls of his office, but that didn't say much. House rolled his eyes. It was hard talking with a babbling madman, and he wasn't about to waste any time. It was a pity, too; he knew Jameson would have been interested in what he had to say. But Jameson would see House again, when he was ready to listen and prepared to stop ranting. If that was possible.

But Jameson had other ideas. He wasn't about to let some mook barge into his office without getting an explaination. "Hey, you!" he demanded, marching out of the office. "Get your gimpy ass back here!" He motioned for House to follow him back into his office. House rolled his eyes, but followed, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he'd get something productive done today. Jameson sat down in his chair, uncaring if House took a seat or not. Which he didn't.

"What the hell do you want from me, anyway?" Jameson asked, arching a brow and leaning his chin under his hand that was stationed on the armrest.

House narrowed his eyes on the man. Jameson shifted, a bit uncomfortable from the attention. "I'm looking for Spider-Man."

Jameson shot up in his seat. "Oh, it's you!" he excalimed. "Well, why the hell wouldn't you say so, Gargan? Jesus, man," he rolled his eyes. "It took you long enough, too. Aren't you people supposed to be on time?"

House eyed Jameson oddly, cranking his neck a bit. The a small smirk played onto his face as he nodded, holding his cane out in front of him. "It's called fasionably late," he said. "Anyway, what do you want from me, exactly?"

Jameson shuffled through some files on his desk, and House had no idea how the madman was able to run a newspaper with such disorganization. He finally pulled out a photo of Spider-Man; the wall crawler was in the air, it seemed to be mid-leap, and his leg was extended and kicking out at a mugger's jaw. House shrugged, but Jameson pushed him to take it. "That photo was taken by a kid we got around here. I wanna know how the hell he manages to get it, and as a bonus, I want you to unmask the freak altogether. Oh, come on. As a private investigator, I'm sure you've had tougher cases."

House smirked, and he felt that if there was such a thing as perfect timing, he had it. "Who's the photographer?"

"Name's Parker, and--"

There was a knock on the door, and a tall, broad-shouldered man stood halfway in the room. He had a set of brown hair to match his eyes, and he stood relatively tall. "You called, Mr. J?" he asked, walking in and looking at House with a bit of confusion in his eyes. House looked to Jameson, who was looking at the two of them back-and-forth. "Who're you?"

"Mac Gargan. You called?"

Jameson's eyes narrowed on House. "And if he's Gargan, then who the hell are you?"

House threw up his hands. "You got me," he said with false concern. Jameson was not amused, and he repeated his question slowly. "Who. The. Hell. _Are._ You?" It was clear Jameson realized his mistake. A little too late, in any case. "

House smirked. "I think we should talk."


	4. Duty Calls

It was hard for Peter Parker to regulate his breathing. What the hell was that asshole of a doctor doing in New York--more importantly, at the place where he worked? He had an idea, of course, the idea mostly concerning the secret that his mask _kept_ a secret. Did he know? And, even if he didn't, what the _hell _was he doing?! Trying to figure it out? He knew that there was a long list of possibilities, but that one always seemed to be at the top of the list.

Of course, he wasn't Peter Parker right now. Who would walk in their 'civvies', as he called normal clothes, when that same person could swing stories high in New York City dawning flashy underwear? The thing about being Spider-Man was that rush he got when he was web-swinging. He'd be damned if some nosy, obsessed doctor would take that away from him--any of it.

As if he didn't have enough problems, anyway. He had to worry about getting better shots for Jameson, since he'd ripped his last photo to shreds. He had to worry about school and how much he missed class to save the world. There was Flash, who was never satisfied with his attempts to make life a living hell. He felt bad lying to Aunt May, who he knew was catching on and getting worried. And Mary Jane--she shouldn't have to cover for him all the time. And now Octavius was on the loose, and there was a new claim that someone saw Electro running around somewhere. Like he needed that guy going and blowing things up. He'd had enough of that last week with Mysterio. And yeah, Mysterio had been dangerous, but he just couldn't take a guy in a purple cape wearing a fishbowl over his head seriously.

"Look, it's Spider-Man!" Some woman cried from below him. Spider-Man rolled his eyes; he was so not in the mood for this right now. He had to get home and talk to Mary Jane about Doctor House being in New York. She wouldn't be happy at all; he remembered how tense she had been in the hospital with him.

"Awh, how could you tell?" he asked as he swung by the gaping woman. "Was it the costume?" There, now that woman could tell everybody everywhere that Spider-Man had talked to her, and Spider-Man had the chance to be sarcastic. It was a win-win for both sides. But when Spider-Man was charged with insults like "Freak!" and shouts of fear like "Run!", that was when he just had to bite his lip and shake it off. There was nothing he could say to people like that, anyway.

Spider-Man hopped on top of a taxi cab, the owner honking as it entered the Lincoln Tunnel and took him closer to Queens. He pressed his sticky palms against the roof of the car, his feet already planted firmly, and ignored the looks and other drivers' beeping. As he emerged, he shouted a "Thanks, pal," over the roar of traffic, spinning a web and finding himself closer to home.

He passed Midtown High, wondering what he'd missed in class. Spider-Man launched himself towards the rooftop, as jumping the gaps between houses would make him less noticable compared to web-swinging. It was harder with these low buildings, too. He jumped from roof to roof, looking at people below and silently begging them not to look up.

'The Place', as it had been named, was not too far from the residential area he and Mary Jane, his girlfriend, called home. It was an old, abandoned warehouse, surrounded by others, relatively close to the water. The two of them spent much of their time together there, with MJ sewing his costumes and Peter listening to the news stations on the television and radio. But in all, it was just a place to get away from everything, until everything called them back again.

Spider-Man landed on the roof of the rusty exterior of the warehouse, opening a sliding window and crawling inside, sticking to the ceiling. He closed the window behind him and dropped to the floor, doing a flip before he landed, incase Mary Jane was watching. "MJ?" he asked, looking around and ripping off his mask. "MJ, you here?" His spider-sense didn't detect anyone, and he figured maybe she just didn't show up today. But that was so unlike her.

Peter stripped out of his costume, his jeans and white tee shirt labeling him a normal teenager on the outside. But that was, of course, just on the outside. He ran his fingers through his brown hair, hoping he didn't have hood hair. He hated when the static made his hair stand up on end. He shrugged it off, jumping on the couch and flipping on the television. He laid down, one hand behind his head, the other pressing buttons on the remote control. He bit his lip with frustration; no sign of Octavius, or Electro for that matter. He was happy he didn't have to go out and tackle them, but it did make him a little antsy, not knowing where they were.

"Man, my butt looks big," he said as he watched footage of Spider-Man swinging in Chinatown appear on the screen. When had he been in China town? Oh, right--the last fight with Mysterio, when he'd beaten the guy so badly his helmet cracked open. That was a while ago, though, so why replay it again? The media never did replay video to make him look heroic. Because then that'd actually be _good_ press, and there was some unwritten law that stated he was only allowed to have it once in a blue moon. Moon hadn't been blue in a while. He realized then that the video switched, and it was filming the scene at the bank, with Octavius. "Heh, a Spidey montage," Peter mused aloud. "All they need now is dramatic background music."

His spider-sense flared, and Peter jumped off the couch, rushing to grab his costume he realized he'd left out in the open. But he relaxed once he saw that it was only Mary Jane walked through the door. She closed it behind her, shaking her head. "Jeez, tiger. Where's the fire?"

"I'm glad you showed up. I gotta talk to you," he said, letting the costune fall from his grip. He was happy to see her; he had been a bit worried, in all honesty. He'd been wonderng why she hadn't shown up.

"Me too," she said. "Because you will not believe who was waiting outside our school on his stupid little bike." She walked towards him, dropping her bookbag on a table. "That doctor of yours, from Jersey."

"He was at the _school?"_

"Mhm, and he called it "Spider-Man's high school." But the weird thing is, he didn't ask for you. He asked for Flash." She shrugged, unsure still why he'd care about some idiotic jock.

Peter couldn't help but laugh a little. "I told him, way back when, that I was really Flash, just to mess with him a little. I didn't think he'd look me up..." His voice trailed off and he stared into space, but blinked back down to earth quickly. "He was at the _Bugle_ and he saw me. I managed to rush into an elevator and get outta there before he could say anything. But if he thinks Flash is Spidey, then what does he want with me?"

Mary Jane shrugged. "Whatever it is, it can't be good. I don't like that guy."

"So on top of everything now, I have to worry about some random doctor rubbing his nose in my business. Perfect. That's all I need right now." Peter sighed with frustration, shaking his head. House being at the school put the situation on another level entirely. "If I confront the guy it'll just make things worse. He would know it's me then," he said. "God--what does he _want,_ anyway?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Mary Jane responded naturally, shrugging. She then turned around, hearing a piercing beeping sound coming from the radio. Peter walked over to it, leaning his head down, his ears closer to the speaker. A man's voice, the tone of a radio DJ completey gone from it, reported that there was a high-speed car chase, and that the stolen vehicle was--

Peter grabbed his costume, rushing past Mary Jane. "Duty calls," he said. She just sighed. "Duty _always_ calls. Tell it to leave a message next time."

* * *

"Floor it, Jakeem!"

"What the hell's it look like I'm doin'?!"

The jaguar sped down the street, other cars honking and screeching to a halt as the stolen vehicle raced past, the police cars behind blasting the sirens and flashing the red and blue lights. The boys just laughed; Marcus had heard his friend Jakeem wanted to go for a little joyride, and he figured what the hell? The two zipped past buildings, going dangerously fast. "Whoo!" they screamed out the windows, their hands tapping the roof.

Suddenly there was a thud. Marcus looked to Jakeem. "What the hell was that?" he asked over another roar of the engine. And then there was the sound of something striking metal, and the roof above them caved in. Jakeem sweerved, the car making black tire marks on the road.

"Hey...this isn't NASCAR..." a voice above them mused. Jakeem looked up. Marcus was afraid to. He looked to his friend with wide eyes. "Pull over, man!"

"No way!"

"I'd listen to your friend," the voice said again. A flash of red and blue appeared over the windsheild, landing on the hood of the car in front of them. Both the boys shouted out. Jakheem tired to shake him, turning the wheel rapidly, but Spider-Man stuck and didn't seem to be flying off any time soon. "Close. I'll give you a B+ for effort." He wound up his arm, his fist clenched, and smashed through the windsheild, the glass shattering and the two boys ducking. The car sweerved and Spider-Man rolled his eyes. "Way to let go of the wheel, moron," he said, jumping up into the air as the car crashed into the side of a brick building. The boys made loud groans of pain from the impact, the airbags blasting to protect them. But those wouldn't protect the derilicts from Spider-Man.

Spider-Man opened up the car door, picking up the driver, who was unconscious. The passenger, Marcus, was shaking. "Please don't hurt me!" Spider-Man rolled his eyes at the comment. "Oh yeah, a bunch of tough guys." He moved to help the boy out of the car, doing the right thing to make sure that he wasn't injured. "Well, this is five minutes of my life that I'll never get back," he muttered.

The police cars had caught up, and officers were out with their guns drawn towards the scene of the crash. "They're all yours," Spider-Man said to the officers, jumping up into the air and spinning a web that attatched itself to a high point on a building. He started swinging away, irritated and annoyed. Stupid car-jacking joyriders. Nice future generation.

As New York City pulled him in, he started swinging towards Times Square, in the direction that would also take him to the _Bugle_ if he stayed on that route. More people pointed. More people shouted. What else was new? He had trained himself to block out the cries of pedestrains. They started to repeat after a while, anyway.

He started humming his theme song when, suddenly, he heard a cry for help. His ears became alert, trying to detect where it was coming from. He altered his path of direction, going to save the day once again. It wasn't one of those 'on-and-off' things. The say always needed saving. He just wondered why he seemed to be the one always doing it--how come the Fantastic Four got to take days off?


	5. Rooftops

_"Help!"_

Spider-Man was spinning webs rapidly, swinging off into the setting sun's horizon. Where were the cries of help coming from? His spider-sense wasn't detecting any danger. He looked around, desperately searching for the woman that was screaming out. He didn't seem to be able to swing fast enough.

_"Help me, Spider-Man!"_

Spider-Man wanted to shout back. He wanted to tell her that he was coming, and that everything would be okay. She sounded so terrified. _Come on, Spidey,_ he urged himself. _Faster, faster. _The woman's life could depend on his speed. He kicked out on a webline, launching himself off it to cover more distance.

"Woah, look! It's Spider-Man!"

"Hey, Spidey! Over here!"

Spider-Man wanted to tell them to shut up. He didn't have time to stop and chat, pose for pictures. He had to move faster, faster. Faster, faster. Why couldn't he move faster?

_"Spider-Man, help! Please!"_

Now the poor woman was begging. Begging for him, pleading. His heart broke. "Hold on!" he shouted out. He didn't care if she could hear him or not. "Hold on, I'm coming!"

The cries got louder, closer. His heart raced. Almost, he could hear her--she was so close. Almost there. He could save her, and everything would be fine. He could imagine her face, how relieved she'd be when he'd get there, how she'd know everything was going to be okay then.

Spider-Man landed on a rooftop, confused. He heard it. He heard her. She should be right here. He looked around, and was taken back when he saw a tape recorder. The woman's voice was played over and over on the machine, and Spider-Man realized he'd been summoned by someone. Annoyed, he walked over to the machine and smashed down on it with his fist, feeling it break. It relieved more stress than simply pressing the 'stop' button.

"You know, I paid good money for that," an all-too familiar voice said from the shadows. Spider-Man spun around, his heart in his chest. It was that man. The doctor. House.

Spider-Man could have been shaking in anger. Or maybe it was the chill in the air. "So you use a tape recorder now?"

"I would've lost my voice screaming for you over and over again," the doctor said as he limped over towards Spider-Man. "It took you long enough."

Spider-Man shook his head. He couldn't beleive this guy. "Listen, doc. I have places to be,_ real_ people to save. That was out of line. If someone's in real danger right now, while I'm up here talking to you--"

House rolled his eyes. "Oh, cut the hero crap, Flash. Or is it Peter? I can never tell with you."

Spider-Man shot him a look. "What do you want from me, man? Really? I have the mask on, and it's not coming off--especially for you."

House eyed Spider-Man, and Spider-Man was taken back to his time in the hospital. He'd been so weak, and after Octavius had rampaged through the halls House had, technically saved Spider-Man's life. He was a doctor. That's what doctors do. But, Spider-Man wanted to point out, that's what he did, too.

House just shrugged. "I don't know what I want from you, hero," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm on the last word. "But I can assure you, when I figure it out, I'll get it."

Spider-Man's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "Is that a threat, doc?"

"Maybe."

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for this," he said. House didn't say much; he was more of an observer, at this rate. "This won't be the last time we run into each other, Spider-Man," he said as he watched the wall-crawler spin a web from the rooftop. Spider-Man rolled his eyes underneath his mask. "I bet you'll make sure of that," he said, his voice showing that he was clearly not looking forward to it.

House watched the hero leave, his gaze unchanging. "That's how it's done," he smirked, turning around. Gargan nodded, coming out from his place in the shadows. He looked at House, then at the direction that Spider-Man had taken off in. "You two have a history," he said, smirking.

The doctor nodded. "Indeed we do. So there you go. How to Catch a Spider 101. Any questions, class?"

Gargan rolled his eyes, moving so that he stood next to house, relatively. "Jonah needs to know how the Parker kid gets pictures of him. Not how to trick him with a tape recorder. This was a waste of my time." He turned his back then, but Hose was still staring off into space.

"No," he said, giving himself a satisfied smile. The smile that he often wore after solving some problem that had been stuck in his head for a long time. "It wasn't."

**__**

**_A/N: I've got some bad news. I'm moving, and won't be able to update until around September. But I'll start it up again as soon as my computer is set up in my new house. I wanted to update beforehand._**


	6. Knowledge is Power

_Two Hours Earlier..._

Mary Jane was still in her cheerleading uniform as she walked home. Peter hadn't shown up; obviously something had kept her boyfriend occupied. He ran a tight schedule, and a lot of uninvited drama often popped up. She had learned to accept it. It wasn't easy, but she accepted it.

The home team had made another victory, bringing the football championship dream that much closer. She'd watched and shouted and cheered, though her mind was elsewhere. Peter seemed extremely bothered lately. Her mind was restless, as she just wanted him at ease. But he was a superhero--he was never at ease, not really.

The chill in the air picked up with the slight breeze, and the redhead wished she'd changed back in the locker room. Instead she had started straight towards her house, hoping that Peter would be swinging in the same direction. She didn't see him; no such luck.

"Hey, MJ!" someone called out to her from the road. It was Flash, with a few of his teammates. They were all laughing, crammed in his convertible and talking about the game. "You need a ride?"

"No, she doesn't."

Mary Jane spun around, though frowned once she saw the arrogant man on the motorcycle. "What do you want?" she asked, though House was smiling not at her, but at the car. The driver was Flash Thompson. Possible Spider-Man #1. "And where is the boy's club headed?" House asked the convertible full of football players. Flash narrowed his eyes on the strange man, but one of the kids, who was already drunk, said, "Par-tay, man!"

Mary Jane looked at House, trying to read him. What did he want? She could almost hear his mind working, the gears grinding as he planned something. She could just tell that he knew more than she could ever want him to. That smirk on his face told her that.

"Sweet bike, man!"

House rolled his eyes. "Shut up, you idiot. Go to your stupid high school party that you won't even remember tomorrow morning. I have bigger fish to fry."

Mary Jane shot him a look. "What fish?"

House just smirked. That was all he needed to do to send shivers down Mary Jane's spine.

* * *

_Present_

Spider-Man knew it was late. No one was out. He didn't really have to worry. He landed on the rooftop of Mary Jane's house, crawling to her window, knocking twice. "MJ! Psst! MJ!" he said in a harsh whisper.

Mary Jane walked over to the window, sleep still in her eyes. She was wearing a pair of Mickey Mouse pajama pants and one of Peter's old tee shirts. "Peter, what are you doing? It's past midnight." She licked her dry lips, trying to awaken fully. Peter shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't make it to the game. There was the car chase, and then--"

Mary Jane's eyes widened. "House!" she said.

The superhero frowned under his mask. "How did you--"

"He was here. After the game."

There was a long pause, but then something clicked. Spider-Man frowned. "He saw Flash, didn't he?" He shook his head. Not good. No, not good at all. He'd seen Flash here, not in the city. He had never been one to swear or curse, but he just found himself sighing. "Damn it..."

**_A/N: Short, sorry. I wanted to get an update in. The move is going well, although I won't be able to get to a computer still. I'm using dial-up right now. Ick._**


	7. The Proposal

He hated Jersey. Everything about it. It sucked. But, he'd taken the day off from school (as if that was allowed) and swung his red and blue ass all the way across state lines. It wasn't easy, it wasn't fun. But he'd done it.

The hospital in Princeton was a nice building. Not too new, but it had a nice aura about it. Secluded by a lot of trees, nice courtyard. Plenty of hiding places.

Dr. James Wilson had a nice view of one of these courtyards. The surgeon was at his desk eating lunch over some paperwork, a little relieved that House wasn't around to annoy him. Gave him a little peace and quiet, a little sanity, time to get work done instead of listening to his colleague's mindless banter.

His phone rang, and he picked up, having a bit of a conversation with Cuddy, who was concerned with a patient's insurance. The white-coated man assured her that the procedure would be covered. "Listen, the surgery will be paid for. They already had a meeting with--_holy!" _That didn't sound very composed, at least on Cuddy's end. Of course, she had no idea that a masked hero was sitting in Wilson's windowsill.

"Cuddy, I'll call you back," he said without a response, hanging up the phone and staring. "What the hell are you doing here?!" he questioned. "Are you crazy? You're supposed to be miles from here."

Spider-Man shrugged, not moving from his spot. It was secluded by brush, so he felt relatively safe. Besides, a guy couldn't have a conversation? "Just wanted to visit my old stomping grounds."

"The last time you were here you were badly injured and were nearly murdered. You've got to be kidding me."

"That obvious?" he asked, swinging his legs over so they dangled above the carpeted floor of Wilson's office. "I need some advice on a friend of yours. Doctor Gregory House."

Wilson seemed exasperated. "What'd he do now?"

"He's trying to figure out who I am under the mask, that's what. He's showing up in my life and I can't have this happening. I wear the mask for a reason, and I won't have some doctor ruin everything for me. I need advice. According to some research I've done around here, you're the closest one to him aside from Cuddy."

Wilson massaged his temples. "He's trying to figure out who you are? Jesus, he doesn't stop. Listen, Spider-Man--" it was so strange saying that. Spider-Man. He was talking to Spider-Man--"I really...I really don't know what to tell you."

"You can't tell me one damned thing? You're tellin' me this trip over here was a waste of time?"

"Pretty much," he sighed. "I'm sorry. But House...he likes knowing things. And he likes to be right. You just intrigued the wrong guy."

Spider-Man massaged his temples this time, sighing. Jesus, now what? This was crazy. Absolutely nuts. And he was in Jersey. Could this day get any better?

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

"You're mad."

"No, I'm not."

"You're fucking insane. Is that better?"

House rolled his eyes, sitting in front of Jameson's desk, cane between his legs. "You don't understand, obviously," the doctor continued. "If we do this, then Spider-Man's identity will be our knowledge almost instantly. It's a perfectly logical--"

"Logical?!" the mustached man snapped. "Logical? You call this operation logical? It's putting a life in danger!"

"Enhancing that life," House corrected. "Enhancing it, so that we have our own secret weapon. One that can beat Spider-Man. Listen, I know the best plastic surgeon at Princeton Hospital. If he agrees to it, we can schedule something immediately."

"You're talking about giving Gargan attributes of a scorpion. How is this in any way..."

House smirked. "Hey, a scorpion wins when it versus the spider. Besides, you want to know who Spider-Man is as badly as I do. And Gargan, he seems like the type to take a job seriously."

"What if it kills him?"

"Then that'd be very unfortunate."

Jameson put his cigar out by flinging it out a window, then leaned forward over his desk. He grabbed the phone, dialing a number he knew by heart. "I'll put him on speaker phone," Jameson said as they rang Gargan. As sick and twisted as it was, he liked the idea.

After the third ring, the raspy voice answered the phone. "Yo, Jameson."

"Gargan, any luck?" Jameson asked, not yet revealing House was listening in.

"Nothing. Tried the tape recorder shit. Didn't work."

"Well, Gargan, I have something that may work, if you're interested."

There was a pause. "I'm listenin'."

Jameson looked to House, who nodded him on. "I had an idea, Gargan. A completely paid-for idea. This Spider-Man guy must be getting on your nerves. But, what if we brought you up to his level?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Mr. Jameson?"

"I'm talking about an operation, Gargan, that'll give you powers that far surpass Spider-Man's. You'll be the perfect weapon. Can you imagine it? The power?" He sure was selling this. "The doctor knows someone who would be willing to help us defeat this masked menace once and for all! You'd be a hero, Gargan!"

"You want me to get an operation? How big a' operation we talkin' about here, J.J.?"

"Just a minor one," the cigar-smoking man lied through his teeth.

"Alright, I'll do it. Just tell me what do to, where to go, and I'm there." It didn't take much thought. It was the chance of a lifetime.

"Once we get the details, I'll call you personally, Gargan. Goodbye." He hung up and looked to House, who smirked. "I'll have to make a phone call to Doctor Farley Stillwell--"

"Stillwell?" Jameson interjected. "That's who's doing the operation? The man's a crackpot!"

"And the only doctor who would be willing to go through with this," House said. He pulled out his cell phone, intending to make the call right then and there. Jameson sighed in defeat, and nodded his head. House grinned and dialed the number on his phone, placing it to his ear.

"Stillwell. I have a bit of a job for you."

_**A/N: Miss me? **_


	8. Stillwell

Doctor Farley Stillwell was reluctant about this. He was reluctant about this whole thing. But how could he refuse ten-thousand dollars of funding? It seemed Gargan didn't question any of it, having taken the serum in an instant. He was getting the same amount of money out of this, but the trepidation wasn't mimicked.

Stillwell was silent for a moment, the biologist just a tiny bit unsure. "Mr. Gargan," he began, "We are going to mutate your body and fit you with a one-of-a-kind scorpion suit that will correspond with your new-born 'powers,' if you will."

Gargan laughed, gulping the serum down, and his body seemed to glow. "It's working!" he cackled. "It's working!"

Jameson looked to Stillwell, who fiddled with his thumbs nervously. "Where's House?"

Stillwell shrugged. "I thought he was with you."

* * *

_Hours later..._

"I don't know, Mary Jane," a depressed Peter Parker sighed, back at 'The Place' after a tiresome swing home. He was dressed in his tights, his mask sitting in his lap. "This House guy isn't getting on my nerves as much as he is scaring me."

She sat down beside him, giving a squeeze to his shoulder. "Easy, tiger. You'll get through this. You've faced more dangerous things than a crazy doctor."

He laughed, nodding his head. "Yeah, I guess you're right." A soft kiss to her cheek, he flipped through the tube. "I was just bummed when the guy's best friend couldn't even offer me advice. I knew House had issues, but I had no idea what I was dealing with until he showed up on a motorcycle to one of my high school football games."

The redhead had began to speak, but she cut herself off entirely after watching the news. "Pete," she said, pointing to the screen. "What the hell is that thing?" Parker looked, eyes widening as he saw a man donning a green scorpion suit, causing a ruckus near the _Bugle_ building. He gave a bit of an exasperated sigh. "Like I need this on top of everything else." He gave her a kiss, throwing his mask on. "See you for dinner!"

"Yeah, sure thing..." her voice trailed off as she watched his new monster as the news reported it, eyes locked on it. It seemed so much...bigger than Peter...

* * *

_Ten minutes later..._

The Scorpion was having the time of his life. He could pick up cars now--which he did, of course--and throw them at anything in range--which had grown in distance quite a bit. This was living! This mutation idea was the greatest thing anyone had ever come up with! He, though, had a job to do. Spider-Man.

He'd caused a scene, then headed up on top of the newspaper building and waited for the red and blue spandex-wearing freak to come along. And he did not disappoint.

"Excuse me," he said, landing on top of the building with grace. "But I believe I already took the insect thing, thank you very much. Even though I'm technically an arachnid, but if we're--_hey!"_ His spider-sense went nuts, as a bolt of lightening seemed to emerge out of nowhere, when it really came from the other's tail. He flipped out of the way easily. "I wasn't done talking yet!"

"Well I'm done listening!" He spun around, his tail smacking Spider-Man right in the side. He grinned as he felt the impact, then rushing over and giving him a good, solid punch to the gut.

Scorpion grinned like a mad man, reaching out for the wall-crawler's neck and holding him out. "Look at the cameras," he smirked, showing the dangling, struggling hero off to a helicopter that was filming the scene, no doubt. Spider-Man gagged, but swung his body and aimed a kick at the other's face, freeing himself.

"I don't know what your angle is," Spider-Man said, composing himself and getting back into fight mode. "But whatever it is, I'm gonna give you a three hundred and sixty degree turn right to The Vault*!" Ha. A little nerd humor.

The Scorpion merely laughed, right in his face. And, without even a word, he swung his tail like a bat. Spider-sense too slow, the web-swinger felt the impact right at the side of his skull. Things went white, then blurry, then dark, then blurry again. The tail was more powerful than he'd thought. Could he actually be outmatched? He wasn't about to take any chances. Before he passed out he had to get away.

He felt like such a coward, such a failure. Fleeing. But what was he supposed to do? Let the other beat him to a pulp? He wasn't prepared for this. At all...

Gargan watched the other literally stumble away from him, off the rooftop. "That's right, Webhead!" he laughed. He'd let him go. He wanted to relish in this...when he finally did what Jameson was paying him to do, he wanted it done right.

--

*The Vault: A high-security prison facility for super-powered criminals.

_**A/N: If you know the original Scorpion storyline via the comics, you'll appreciate what's going on here. If not? Sit back, relax, and let me tell it to you.**_


	9. Catch Me When I Fall

Gregory House was staring to like the _Bugle_ building. It was loud and chaotic, which left plenty of time for snooping around. And the added screams and evacuation as it was found there was a fight going on above their heads gave him time to find Peter Parker's desk. Which he found computer was off...it looked like he hadn't been in the office today.

And as he looked out the window to see Spider-Man tumbling off the side of the wall, a smirk came to his lips. He then exited the building with all the other patrons.

Jameson was all alone in his office, the blinds closed, door shut. Maybe the only one not panicking, as he watched the Scorpion leap the gap from his building to the next.

"Scorpion!" Jameson hollered. "What are you doing? Get me Spider-Man so I can unmask him!"

The Scorpion cackled. "Get him yourself, Jameson! Nobody tells the Scorpion what to do!"

And with that, Jameson's face seemed to pale. _I never thought of that. What if he turns on me?!_

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

How could he be outmatched? How had he ended up lying in an alleyway with a concussion, serious bruising and maybe a sprained wrist? He pulled himself up to lean his head against the wall, sighing out with defeat. All jokes aside, he knew when it was time to be serious. And this...this was indeed serious.

This idiot running around in a Scorpion suit had nearly knocked him unconscious. He'd underestimated him. But the thing was, he didn't seem to have a motive. What reasons did he have to stand up on the building and cause a ruckus in the streets? Everyone had a plan, from Doctor Octopus to the Chameleon. But this guy...he didn't seem to be scheming. What motivation did he have, other than beating Spider-Man to a pulp?

As the gears in his head were turning he heard the dull roar of a motorcycle, but didn't think anything of it until his spider-sense went off. He turned his head to see a man with a cane limping down the alley, right towards him.

"That was quite a fall, Parker," House said, standing above the hero as he used the wall to get to his feet. Spider-Man stared at him through the white eyes of his mask, knowing he'd been found out. "I told you, my name's--"

"Flash Thompson is was at Midtown High School for after-school football practice. Peter Parker, however, did not show up for work today. Spider-Man was seen in areas of Jersey, and now you're right here in front of me."

Spider-Man seemed hesitant. He didn't think the doctor could blame him. "What do you want from me?" he asked. "Money? Because I don't have any."

House laughed, which really got on the wall-crawler's nerves. "I don't want money from you, Parker, I--"

"Mind not calling me that while I'm in costume?" Spider-Man snapped in interruption.

House paused a moment, and then continued: "I'm just glad we could finally come to this conclusion."

"Conclusion? What conclusion? You knowing who I am and me not being able to do a damned thing about it?"

"Pretty much."

"Doesn't seem like a happy ending on my side," the hero said. "What are you going to do with my name?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

House nodded.

"You went through all that effort, all this spying, to get my name and now you're doing nothing."

House nodded, and then turned around. "Have a nice life, Parker."

Spider-Man, in his trepidation, said nothing as his mind was doing most of the work at that point, reeling and spinning and swirling. "What're you going to do now?"

"I paid for my motel until the weekend. I think I'll enjoy myself." He hopped back on his motorcycle, and he said nothing as he drove off, the engine getting fainter and fainter until Spider-Man was all alone. And out of luck.


	10. Ten Missed Calls

_"In breaking news, New York's latest super powered criminal being referred to as 'the Scorpion' has made off with an estimated hundred thousand dollars in diamonds. Officials say they are doing everything they can to stop the Scorpion. Spider-Man was not seen at the scene of the crime, and was unavailable for comment." _

Mary Jane slouched further into the couch, hoping she'd just melt into it so she'd never have to get up again. She looked at her cell phone. Still no messages, and she'd called Peter at least a dozen times.

_"The Scorpion has only recently--wait. We're getting word that the Scorpion is on his way downtown. With the route he's currently taking, it looks like he's heading for the_ Bugle_ building."_

The_ Bugle?_ Why did everyone go after the _Bugle__?_ She felt her stomach churn, and she grabbed her cell phone from beside her. She dialed Peter's number nervously. "Come on, tiger, pick up..." she mumbled as she tried one more attempt, the phone at her ear.

"Hey, you've reached Peter. I'm not here right--" she slammed the phone shut and threw it at the wall.

* * *

_Five minutes earlier..._

Man, this was the life. More than the life. It was....it was awesome! It was living on a high. He was powerful, unstoppable, undefeatable! No one would ever mess with the Scorpion. Even Spider-Man had learned his lesson. As of that moment. Gargan knew he was the most dangerous man in New York.

He laughed, throwing the bag of recently-thieved diamonds onto his couch in his apartment. It was hard walking around the place with his suit on, but he'd manage the short time he'd have it on. Speaking of, he decided the suit needed a little break, and Gargan needed to make a stop at the black market.

He felt around for a zipper, or something, looking like an idiot trying to grope himself. The tail flung this way and that, and Gargan realized that, as he was trying to peel the green suit away, it wasn't coming off. A wave of panic went through him. Not coming off? It...it couldn't...it had to come off! What, was the suit a part of his skin now? He laughed nervously at the idea, trying more desperately now to get the damned thing off.

Sweat dripped from his brow. It wasn't moving. At all.

How...what...why..._"Jameson!"_

* * *

A semi-depressed Spider-Man was crouched on a rooftop, sitting there as if he was one of the pigeons perched to get the best view the city had to offer. He went through his phone, making a face as he saw all the missed calls. He called Mary Jane back, and she picked up within half a second.

"Hey, babe. Where's the fire?"

"The _Bugle,"_ she snapped. "Why the hell haven't you been picking up?!"

"I've been a little busy," he replied. "With you know who."  
"House?"

"You betcha."

"Listen, we'll talk about him later. Scorpion's headed for the Bugle. I'm watching the news right now."

"Jesus." He paused a moment. He really wasn't looking forward to going after that guy and getting his ass kicked again. "Alright, I'm on my way."

"Be careful."

"I always am."


	11. Security

Jameson couldn't be caught dead having any sort of connection to Scorpion, or that crazy House for that matter. It'd cause him lawsuit upon lawsuit upon lawsuit, not to mention public disgrace. What would happen to his name, his reputation, his paper? No, the Scorpion was not his brainchild. He had nothing to do with it. This, however, raised the question as to why the green armored giant was smacking down the walls of his office, having entered through the window after scaling the outside building.

"Stop it!" Jameson exclaimed, for once not having a cigar hanging from his lower lip. "Damn it, stop it! It's Spider-Man you want! Not me! It's Spider-Man!"

"I beg to differ!" The Scorpion snarled, grabbing Jameson by the shirt. The mustached man flinched. "Name your price! I'll pay whatever you want, just don't hurt me!"

"You ruined my life!" The Scorpion shouted, throwing Jameson into his desk. "So now I'll end yours!"

It was then that a red and blue blur flew in from the window. "Is that entrance okay, or do I have to break my own window?"

It was here that Jameson found himself in a very strange predicament. He was rooting for Spider-Man. Spider-Man, the enemy he wanted destroyed, who had been the birth of the Scorpion, the monster that now wanted to kill him and who was being stopped by the man that he wanted killed. His head felt a little dizzy.

"Aw, Scorpy, don't look so upset to see me."

"After the way I pulverized you last time? No, I'm lookin' forward to this." The tail flung towards the hero, who dodged it with his spider-sense. "Don't you get it, webhead? You can't beat me!"

Spider-Man laughed, unloading his sticky webbing onto the floor, at the green monster's feet. "Wanna bet?" he asked.

The Scorpion couldn't move his legs under the mounds and mounds of webbing that was gluing him to the floor. "What--what is this?" He was greeted by a blow to the face. Spider-Man wasn't stupid, he knew the Scorpion was stronger than he was, and he knew that if he approached the situation the same as last time, he'd get his ass kicked once again. It was time to change tactics.

As he kept sticking the villain to the floor, he used his spider-sense to dodge the blows from the Scorpion's tail while getting in dozens of his own punches. Jameson only watched in awe as Spider-Man defeated their adversary, who was unconscious on the floor.

Spider-Man stood above the Scorpion, wiping his hands clean over the body. "He's all yours, Jameson. Just make sure the cops get here before he wakes up again."

Jameson faultered. "You--you beat him."

"You seem surprised."

Jameson wouldn't lie that he was. He watched Spider-Man fly away, turning around to face the man who wanted him dead, knocked out on his office floor.

* * *

House was packing up his suitcase when there was a thud on his windowsill. He turned his head, spotting a familiar masked man there. He arched a brow, remaining silent for a moment as Spider-Man let himself in.

"The Scorpion's toast," he announced. "I know you were part of it, with Jameson."

"You figure that out all on your own?"

"Stillwell helped too."

House grabbed his cane, limping to the other side of the bed. "It was nothing personal."

"My secret identity _is_ personal."

The doctor sighed. "I already told you I'm not doing anything with it."

"I'm supposed to believe that?" Spider-Man stood behind him, the face underneath the mask red and sweaty.

"If you knew me, you would."

"Well I don't know you," Spider-Man said. "You're not a friend, not even an aquantiance. You're my doctor who took way too much interest."

"Parker," he said, hoping the use of his name would get him to quiet. "Shut up, calm down, and go talk to your girlfriend."

"Excuse me?"

House pointed to the window with his cane. "Go, before I call security."

"You'd call security on me?"

"No."

Spider-Man acutally laughed a little. Just a little. "I didn't think so."


End file.
